The Sickened Man
And there he was, standing on the corner of the street again; the man in the tattered blue suit. He was a tall man with a bald head and incredibly pale skin. This was the seventh night in a row I had seen him standing there, facing away from my house staring at the ground. Every night I watched him arrive, stand there for exactly an hour, and then leave. It was the same routine every night; he would arrive at 2am and leave at 3am exactly on the dot. By now I was starting to get worried as to why he was there. One night I decided to build up the courage to go outside after he arrived and see if he was ok, as he looked rather ill with his pale skin and tattered suit. That night, I sat up waiting for him to arrive. I stayed up till 3:30am, and there was still no sign of him. So I went to bed thinking he had finally gone away. I woke up the next morning to find a letter had arrived in the post. This wasn’t a normal looking letter however; it was a poorly constructed envelope made from newspaper and duck tape, and had a rather strange smell to it almost like rotting fish. I opened the letter with slight hesitation, only to find a solitary ripped up a piece of paper that read: “There is no need for your concern” in barely legible handwriting. I disregarded this letter as just being some kids playing a prank. That night I looked out my window at 2:10am and there he was; the man in the tattered blue suit, standing there again. I wanted to know whom this guy was, and what was going on. So I grabbed my phone and a jacket and went outside. I now stood across the road from the man, it was cold and it was dark. I was terrified, but I wanted to know what was going on. So I edged closer to the man, who seemed much taller this close up. As I got closer and closer to him the smell hit me; the same smell that the letter had. The man's breathing was fast and frantic, yet he remained perfectly still. I was shaking now, merely a few feet away from the man. That’s when I noticed his hands. All four of his fingers looked as if they were melted together, tattered and scared. It almost made him look like he had crab claws. Finally, after standing there in terror for about a minute, I built up the courage to ask him if he was OK. I could hear the fear in my own voice. The second those words came out of my mouth the man's frantic breathing stopped, and silence fell. We both stood there for about 30 seconds in complete silence until the man started to do something. I stepped back as he started to move, still staring at the ground. He lifted up his hideously deformed hand, and began to reach into his suit. I could see him rummaging around in there, as if he was trying to look for something. Finally he stopped and began to pull something out of his suit. He then lowered his hand down by his sides. In his hand, he awkwardly gripped an empty dirty syringe. I was now terrified to the point where I knew I had to get out of there and run back to my house which was merely a few metres away. But for some reason, I just couldn’t move. I felt paralyzed. Slowly the man turned around. What I saw terrified me to the point where I wanted to scream for help, but I couldn’t. The man's face was pale and wrinkly. He had no mouth, and a gaping hole where his nose should have been. He had two oddly spaced beady black eyes, and strands of dirty grey hair draping over his face. He also had an unusually thin and tall neck. He lowered and turned his head in a vary unnatural fashion. Then, as if he was trying to let out a yell, the skin where his mouth should be started pulling apart revealing horrible jagged yellow teeth. He lunged at me with the needle, and that’s all I remember. The next morning I woke up in my bed with no recollection of anything happening past that moment. Beside my bed was another crudely made newspaper and duck tape envelope. I opened it, and inside was a slightly blood-stained piece of paper that simply read: “Your donation was kindly accepted” in the same barely legible handwriting. I looked down at my arm and saw several needle marks on my skin, and dry blood all up my arm. This experience has disturbed me for life. None of my family believes me, and to this day I have never seen the man I am calling “the sickened man” ever again. But I warn others; if you see this man do not approach him and do not get involved. No matter how long he waits, no matter how many nights you see him never go near him. Although I am still perfectly fine to this day, this experience has haunted my dreams ever since. I have included a rough drawing I did of the sickened man, to warn others. If you see this man, stay away. Category:Beings